Blood
by Anarithil
Summary: Don’t we say that Varda is the wisest and most beautiful valie ? Well, you should undeceive yourself, for behind that black silhouette as pure as starlight hides a mischievous and manipulative mask, full of hate and bitter-sweet memories...


**Don't we say that Varda is the wisest and most beautiful valie ? Well, you should undeceive yourself, for behind that black silhouette as pure as starlight hides a mischievous and manipulative mask, full of hate and bitter-sweet memories... **

**Author's note : **_'Kay. No money, no sues. No flamers, no curse. Only my interpretation of Varda's character, in the Silmarillion and The Lord of the Rings. The sterile elf-lady, my OC, is Elilwë, an sterile elven rangerand once loved by Legolas. No Mary-Sue. Just a damsel in affective distress and some literary madness. By the way, I'm French, so puh-leaaaaaze tell me if there are any mistakes. Sorry for the Tolkienists, I think Varda is a corrupted and devilishly beautiful divinity, who has some similarity with Hera, you know, in Greek mythology. Love Tolkien. Love Elves. Reviews and comments free. Hope you'll enjoy it._

All the elements were taken in a symphony of pure folly. Blinding thunder streaked the starless sky, as marine water became madness, mingling itself with celestial eternities.

Nienna had just thrown her power and her sadness on the Gray Havens, the largest and most frightening elvin city. Indeed, no elf, by seeing the vastness of the sea, had been able to forget the Eldari's fate.

Their heart always belonged to Yavanna and its vegetal beauties, but their soul had hardly the courage to overstep the melancholy which seized them. Therefore, dozens of silvery ships left the shores of Middle Earth, never to return. The white limestone cliffs of Valinor awaited them, impassive since the birth of Iluvatar on this ground. A strong maritime breeze agitated the white and gilded banners of Lorien, inviting the elves on a long and perilous path. The soft winter breeze set the pine branches swaying, as Varda's marble temple was standing in front of the twilight horizon, last refuge for those who still believed in divine powers.

The magic of the elves definitively left this continent filled up with bitter memories, in order for them to better impregnate the Immortal Grounds of their mischievousness and their frightening beauty. But hope was not useless, as some stars remained passionately attached to murmurs of the past, futile feelings without any value, if not love's value. Rising from the temple enclosure, a mysterious voice made echo among the engraved columns of the majestic sanctuary. A such painful lament broke the heart of whoever had impudence to listen to these words, sung in an unknown and exotic language, soft perfume of a distant universe. The sudden lapping of an elvin step in a water puddle broke that magic moment, in which were intermingled the waves' echo and a enchantress melody, the anger of the Valar.

Opening by the force of the wind, the heavy wooden doors of the temple folded back on the marble walls in a deaf knocking. The gleam of the flashes, accompanied by the threatening thunder, lit up a fragile silhouette which was standing, proud and frightening, in the immense framing of the entry. Although they were not visible, the stars seemed to quiver with the arrival of this phantom coming to haunt the place where the elvin priestesses kept Varda's statue, honouring a simple stone divinely carved. Whereas the hasty stranger walked towards the temple's altar, some dead leaves, reminiscences of a particularly soft autumn, fluttered sadly within a few centimetres of the marble ground's surface. Slowly, with grace and majesty, this black spectrum knelt, in front of some sort of funereal altar, hardly visible in the darkness.

" Ai ! Why, Elbereth ? Why so much suffering ? Why me ? What did I do to deserve such a fate ? "deplored the intruder.

Her voice seemed harsh and ruff, and at the same time unperceivable, like weak beats of one anguished heart. A murmur in quenya, incoherent, was heard, followed by a swear stressed by a heart in revolt, a heart broken and stripped all its humanity. The ephemeral being, raised with a white and fragile hand the cap of her cape, and her face was revealed to the cold statue's eyes. And what a statue ! Varda in person, clad in a simple dress and a long scarf which fell on its beautiful shoulders, mingled with its long hair, usually black on the pictorial representations. A peaceful smile, a pale complexion veined of silver, she seemed so beautiful, unprotected, ignored. One with its hands rested elegantly on its shoulder, and the other held a silk piece of dress. Its eyes, in spite of all their beauty, seemed melancholic, almost desperate by seeing the silhouette lowering its head as a sign of respect.

"I am entirely devoted to you, my Lady. What did you do in return ? Have I ever failed a single promise ? My honesty does not have limits... and you are cheating, Elbereth. Cheating... " the silhouette sobbed.

Tears of hatred ran along the face of this woman who had made irruption in the room and had broken the quietude of this sacred place. Her eyes were similar with the immutable statue which fixed it indifferently, like her features, but her face was deformed by bitterness and remorse. Black wicks fell into her field of vision, and, punctuated by blinding flashes and deafening thunder, the silhouette started to cry, letting escape two thousand years of hatred and anger. The water pearls traced wet furrows on her cheeks, and were delayed a few moments on her crimson blood-like lips, strangely coloured, then falling on the marble ground.

" I, the insensitive ranger. I, the inhumane warrior. I... rejected. " she whispered, hoping that her hard words could pierce Varda's heart. And you... So perfect, if not beautiful..."

The silhouette raised slowly, proudly measuring this statue with her harsh gaze, as icy as the wind which broke out on the Grey Havens. Another flash, ephemeral gleam in the blackness of the kingdom of Varda, lit the frightening face of this shadow up, as beautiful as the statue standing on the altar.

Her eyes illuminated themselves, and a cry torn the wind. The shadow fell to her knees, and observed with apprehension her trembling and contracted hands, the muscles of the fingers contracted like a torn off palpitating heart of its still alive carcass. And, like a flesh burned with sharp stings, stabbed in the deepness of its entrails, her palms, glazes of blood, were notched by pieces of ice. Whereas water mixed with haemoglobin, the silhouette locked her eyes on the enigmatic smile of the statue, and contented itself of gazing the stone representation, insensitive, inhuman, rejected by a traditional society which did not understand her.

" TRAITOR ! " she exclaimed herself, and the echo of her hatred on the marbled walls of the temple, linked with all those despaired voices, prints of ire. " Is this how you take revenge on your child ? With pieces of ice as cutting as glass ? You, Iluvatar's daughter, destroying one of its creations ? Well, go ahead, I don't have anything to lose anymore... Not even my life..." whispered the shadow, on the point of leaving the temple, full of sorrow.

Indeed, a hardly audible murmur retained it in these places, as an invisible force which she could not counter. A light breeze disturbed the few drops of blood which had been delayed on the ground, and the hair of the shadow was modelled by the element of Manwë.

"And yet, I believed that I wasn't important to you ! Your husband, Sulimo, Master of the Winds, has more courage than you do, to appear in your place! Aren't you the most powerful Lady ? Those were my thoughts, until now. " the ranger said in response of the maritime wind which blew in the vastness of the temple.

With dislike, she granted a filled up glance of bitterness to the statue, with an enigmatic and frightening smile. Darkness veiled her eyes, as the cry of the Nazgûl formerly obscured the sky of Minas Tirith. Their unpleasantly acute whistles did nothing but tear the heart of the ranger, lacerating it in bloody scraps of flesh. Stiff by the pain, she posed its hands on her pointed ears, making her shiver with horror by the idea that her own blood could affect her hearing, which only was a childhood fear.

"Stop ! " begged the ranger. " Please ! Cease these torments ! Don't you even possess a heart? Is this how you torture your honest subjects, me, the flesh of your flesh? "

What followed then was a quite singular thing. Suddenly, the atmosphere became quite heavy, moist, almost poisoned. On the other hand, if elvin senses were always as perspicacious, the ranger found herself in darkness like a blind man in the paths of silence. She did not manage any more to hear her own voice, and only the caress of the hand of Manwë managed to soften the fate that Varda had somewhat thrown on the silhouette, cursed by all. Wandering in a tunnel without end, filled up with tears, the only things which it managed to distinguish were the stars, wells of sterile lights, in veil of the night. Then, murmuring incoherent words in quenya, she found herself in front of an immense and luminous star cluster, which revolved slowly around a central star, gigantic and majestic. The place where she was was strewn with infinite spangles, colors and stars.

" I had... no... idea... No... word can't... explain... cannot describe...Never... No idea..." she whispered in an almost fading voice.

A galaxy, filled up with light of an unexplainable beauty, came to her eyes, wet of so much unshed tears. At that moment, she discovered the extent of Varda's kingdom, in a form that no other being could foresee in the starry sky. Iluvatar, in all his splendour, had created many things and his work, although unfinished by the hands of Varda, the creator's disciple, was - or seemed, at least - perfection. The ranger, even though as stubborn as the flames of Ariel, was, also, an imperfect and perfect work, subtle mixture between life and immortality's majesty, a fiery spirit and a starless beauty. The cold and marbled temple in which she was, was blurred, like a ephemeral and pleasant dream, in order to let the jewels of Varda shine among the inky celestial clouds, stars more than millenary. And, where the statue formerly stood, like marble, it came to life, as the regular movement of its chest became more and more accentuated.

' Where am I ? ' the ranger thought, while looking, with a childish amazement, the statue claming elvin life. ' Would this be a simple dream or a malefic fate driving me mad ? '

Its hand, chastely resting on the statue's shoulder, moved itself with grace and softness, lightly stroking her breast. Soon, its two arms were crossed on its beautiful chest, and the statue lowered the head slightly, respectfully saluting the stranger.

'Tis not possible ! Which enchantment veils my eyes from the obviousness ? '

The ranger knelt, carefully avoiding the statue's fearless glance. Head lowered, her two hands crossed on her chest as a sign of respect, she remained petrified, thus, on a ground she could not see. And a soft murmur was heard, divine melody. This language had a relatively old consonance, but it remained, first of all, elvish. Quenya or sindarin, she couldn't say it because all the words whispered by the statue were unknown to her. She was dazzled with the statue's grace, as a young elf-lady. Its steps, strangely quiet, disturbed the surface of the ground, as if this black and cold stone was made of dark water. The wave became fuzzy, and the reflection of stars wasn't visible any more.

"You, star among all the darkness of the world, why don't you pray for me ? Why don't you believe in me ? " asked the goddess with a melancholic and yet sad voice.

These words were said with precaution and measurement, because Valar hardly had time to lose with the living ones in useless palavers. Moreover, she had the impression Varda didn't often speak the Common Language. The ranger prepared herself to answer, but the divinity raised her beautiful hand, ordering her to keep quiet.

" Is your anger justified ? Now, my child, do not fear my ire, since my blood runs in your veins. "

At last, she could really foresee the statue. Her skin, as white as snow, had at the same time her features and her stature. As for her eyes, as black as night, they were full of starry splendour, just like her. A peaceful smile illuminated her beautiful face, her black hair fell on her shoulders, somehow hiding the astonishing bitterness she possessed. She was also clad with a dark-coloured dress, someway between black, purple and blue. It was strewn with stars, silvery Silmarils.

'Varda ! Ai, I was mistaken ! ' thought the ranger. ' Am I so ungrateful towards my mother ?'

" Your dreams make you unhappy, my dear child... But, this isn't, however, the subject of our conversation." declared the valie.

" My Lady Elbereth, star-loved, why don't you answer my prayers ? Am I not your daughter ?" asked the elf-lady."Aren't you my mother ? My _naneth_ ? "

" _Naneth_ ? You avoid maternal love by all means, or... is it concealed in your heart ? " said Elbereth. " Have you ever taken some time to look at the stars ? " she added.

" The stars are my guides, my confidants, my friends... Alas, I never benefit of Men's friendship, because their life is so fragile, full of obstacles..." retorted the elf.

"And an elven love ? Have you ever thought about it ? Love is eternal, just like elves... and the stars. However, you reject this feeling because of your arrogance "

"My arrogance is my only protection. Males are cheating, inaccurate... and yet passionate in all their tasks, even the most difficult ones..." said the ranger, and a shooting star left a brilliant trail in the sky " Even the most intimate..."

Varda satisfied herself with a naughty smile, it made her so real, so alive... And yet, statue it was, and statue it would remain, despite her beauty and her power. Her child possessed that icy coldness, and ravished all hearts which overseen her real nature. Legolas was one of the first to notice it, since the moment of their first glance, her first gesture, her first smile, her first word... and their first kiss, turbid and pleasant dream, Lorien summer spent of the brink of lust and love. The goddess felt the sorrow of her blood, the bitterness of her daughter, the hatred of her most honest subject. All these presumptuous and useless titles were then removed to leave two sisters who could converse without fear and embarrassment.

Long moments passed thus, and the two immortal beings were satisfied to admire the extent of the starry kingdom in all its splendour. Iluvatar's magic came to an end, with some regret, and transformed itself into a limestone hall, just like the theatres of Gondor plunged in a silvery crystal light. Rivendell and its lights, leaving Middle Earth, were only mere stars in a divine galaxy. Soon, silhouettes appeared, solitary beings and yet linked by their only characteristic : music. Those shadows, androgynous, were mute – they were unable to talk - and however had a voice of a rare quality.

" Ainur ! " the elf exclaimed by seeing smiling faces observing her with curiosity. " I thought they had left Arda, in order to let their spirit wander in stellar infinities ! "

" Not all, my child. They are of some distraction for us Valar. Fortunately, it is a joy for them to be useful, and in this moment, I will initiate you by appreciating all the musical knowledge of those friendly and yet so mysterious beings. As they unable to talk, we are unable to penetrate their spirits. " retorted Varda, and a cape made of silver appeared on her shoulders, protecting the goddess from the icy cold which reigned in these places.

The young woman had almost forgotten of the throbbing pain and the blood which beaded the ground. The ice had melted, obviously, but her fingers were stiff with cold, and trembled miserably. Elbereth raised her hands and the wounds, although bleeding freely, and pain was forgotten. What followed then was magical. The Ainur began to sing in unison, their pure and evanescent voices becoming veil of several harmonious sounds, like a childhood melody that some old women sang after a hard day's work.

" These songs, nevertheless, will not alleviate my sorrow, in spite of all their beauty. Because you, my Lady, can give birth. I am sterile. " declared the shadow.

" You are thus barren? " asked Elbereth seeming unaware of the ranger's situation. " Isn't that a disastrous news for a heart which will remain eternally solitary ? " she added, sweetly grinning.

" I do not recognise you, my Lady. You were formerly wise, and are now arrogant." said the ranger with pure disrespect.

Ainur, obviously stunned by what the ranger had just said, ceased singing, and their voices were no more but memories among the crystals which floated indifferently. Strangely enough, they did not appear annoyed, even though this corrupted elf had insulted their mistress. On the contrary, a sweet and gentle smile aspiring to quietude, just like the statue of Elbereth which remained, immutable, on the temple's altar.

"Arrogant? Well, we are not so different... I am...you. Our ways are the same, you know that, don't you ? "

" Similar, and yet different ! You know it, Varda, you know it... Descendant of Tintawen the Beautiful, downward of Luthien Tinuviel, downward of the frightening Elbereth, Star-lover ! Unique... " said the ranger with pride. " Your blood, and it is a chance, runs into my veins, but that does not make you a queen, to which I must be subjected. "

" I am a queen, my child, never deny the obviousness. As for your difference, you are unique. Of course you are. Your name will be woven forever in Vairë's works. Your sacrifice, your life, your blood, in exchange of an ungrateful world which never wanted of you. This will be admired, adulated ! Dead for Middle Earth. Sacrificed, for Middle Earth ! "

Obviously, the elf could deny her immortal nature, because she had the defects, and not the qualities. However, it seemed ridiculous to die for something in which she did not believe in. A sacrifice in Varda's name. And all became limpid in her spirit.

" But it will only be a name. " murmured the ranger. " A name, engraved on rock, ink on parchment, whispered by admiring old men, regretted by its close relations, hated by elves, adored by men... I do not have any choice. Am I a statue ? A divinity ? I am an icon, condemned to remain sterile, unhappy and definitively alone ? "

"Yes, a name. For the moment, it is all you represent for this world, because your life is only a succession of failures, tears, sufferings... Nights of passion with men you did not love...Your love life is quite pitiful, because we provided you, you and your ancestors, with a fiery spirit which would dissuade all the males, in spite of your beauty. A name. A simple name. But everyone will talk about it. Have you ever dreamed of be admired for your true value ? " exclaimed Elbereth, its voice gaining in power and majesty.

As phantoms, the Ainur surrounded the ranger, and these beings became dark beings, tormenting the spirit of the elf by grieved, sad, languorous and strong songs. Their voices, plaintive, were more painful than a thousand tortures. And darkness veiled her eyes, like a black shroud surrounding her useless world, broken by an immortal who wished to be convinced of the wisdom of her decision. The ranger fell on the ground, inanimate, her beautiful black hair spread out in scattered wicks. Suddenly, the Ainur became silent, and lowered their heads. Varda closed her eyes, like stiff by pain and sorrow, and she whispered :

"One day, I hope you'll be able to forgive me. "

**Special Thanks**

**Elysabeth **Tee, hee ! I'm gonna write this in English, nîn mellon, just for you to practise a bit. Nan, j'crois que j'vais m'arrêter là, parce que bon, c'est pas facile, moi j'ai pris quatre bonnes heures à traduire quelques pages en français, m'enfin bon, en s'exercant un peu, ça risque forcément d'aller mieux. Qu'est ce que tu penses ? J'espère que c'est pas trop...Comment dire ? C'est compliqué, mon écriture. Déjà en français avec les subjonctifs des imparfaits et les figures de style, c'est pas du gâteau, mais alors en anglais...!

**Kerri** I knew pure Tolkienists would lynch me. However, this is always my interpretation of Tolkien, not in all fanfictions, but in this peculiar one, yes. Varda maybe, in another one, far more beautiful and wise, whereas Yavanna (or Nienna, I like her) would remain bitter and full of sorrow. But if I replace this fanfiction in the Greek Mythology section, Greek mythology fans ARE GOING to lynch me. Dilemna, dilemna...By the way, thanks for your first sentence 'You write very well.' I'll take that as a compliment.


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